Bade Rivers Bleed
by LbyBrown
Summary: Murdoc Niccals is the king of the underground drug world of 1990s London. He's got Stuart Pot crazy for him. He has everything he could ever want. But when one decision turns his right-hand woman, Paula Cracker, against him, how far will she go to see him and everything he loves crash and burn? Based on Shakespeare's "Othello."
1. The Green-Eyed Monster

"Paula, I tol' ya. I'm gonna ge' 'im."

Picking up her drink laughing, Paula Cracker sat back in the black leather booth, and crossed her long thin legs before swigging the straight vodka, "Ya think yer gonna ge' 2D?"

"Blimey, bitch, I know I'm gonna ge' 'im. Have ya seen the way 'e looks a' me? Li' I'm the only lady in the world," Rachel giggled like a smitten schoolgirl, "Anway, i's like I was tellin' ya, this John, 'e looked like a fuckin' we' iguana or some shite, I wonder if they even exis'…"

The bimbo's voice dulled to a steady hum to Paula who sat staring at the admittedly beautiful woman in front of her blankly. Rachel was the best prostitute the Niccals Empire had, raking in cash by the fucking barrel-load because of her sweet, honey-blonde looks that drove men wild. Her problem was that she was nothing short of a complete idiot, and had freely agreed to give away exactly 56% of her earnings to her pimp, but she still lived better than any other hooker in the gang after seven years of dutiful "service." Paula had known her for even longer than that. Which was why it was so easy for her to turn away and let her chatter on to herself while the buttonwoman gazed around at the loud patrons of the sin bar of London.

_A fuckin' vampire's lair,_ Paula snorted to herself, not without some truth to it. It was done up completely in black, red, and white; black chandeliers, candles, bloody floor, a long, solid glass-topped bar backed by ebony shelves consumed by alcohol from one wall to the next. There were backrooms undoubtedly made to fuck in. People were smoking, and the haze hung around the room, mixed in with pissed-off conversations.

"I told Anna to shu' her fuckin' mouth before I bea' the shi' out of her, bu' as usual, she doesn' listen to anythin'…"

"He was amazin' in bed. Nothin' like Tony, he couldn' tell my navel from anywhere else…"

"The manager was nothin' bu' a bloody bastard, me an' the lads were mad..."

Sighing, Paula turned back, leaning into the booth with her glass in hand, downing the last of it in one quick gulp before she looked straight into that pair of baby blues smiling, her eyebrows furrowed on her forehead in sympathy at the girl across from her.

Rachel noticed. She may not have been right, but that smile and unflinching stare was enough to tell her that something was wrong. The poor skank couldn't help but bring her hand up to her hair to tug at a silky lock, "Wha' is i' then? Spi' i' ou', c'mon!"

"Ya stupid, stupid girl. He hasn' looked at ya once. An' he's no' gonna," Paula laughed, baring her rabbit's teeth ringed with a dark red mouth, "Why? Because he's upstairs, an' Muhdoc's fuckin' his brains ou', I guarantee it."

The little blonde's mouth began to tremble, "N-no, 'e's fuckin' no'! Yer lyin'. 'E's no' a fag."

"Jesus Christ, Rachel, are ya fuckin' thick? 'E's go' blue hair-"

"THA'S NO' 'IS FAULT."

"Oh, shut it," Paula said waving her hand in the direction of the bimbo, "Think about it. Has he ever even bothered sayin' anythin' to ya? No. An' why? Because he's in i' for Muhdoc. Nothin' else, an' tha's the way it's always been."

Paula gathered up her gangly legs and jutted out a hip to step out of the booth, relishing the blonde's quivering bottom lip, and huge filmy eyes, "Ge' the fuck up. I'll prove it to ya."

Reluctantly, the blonde gathered herself up, the puppyish look still shrinking her mouth and widening her eyes, she looked up at Paula and stuttered out, "I-I know I'm righ'. 'E does wan' me, 'e 'as t'."

Paula chuckled softly, making her way through the bar, its noisy patrons, the little blonde timidly behind her, and pushed the door open out into the cool October night, the smell of smog smacking both of them bitter in the nose. Heels clacking against concrete, the buttonwoman turned to the right and into the back alley situated between the pub and the next building. It looked just like any other alley in any other city, any other country, or any other corner of the world; dark, dingy, and a filthy, mange-ridden cat rummaging through a rubbish heap in the far corner for food.

Flanking the side of the two-story structure, there was a set of metal stairs running up the side that ended in a grated landing in front of a pockmarked door. It looked weather-beaten, and there were no windows to be seen on the second floor.

"I'm righ', ya know!" Rachel squeaked behind her, nervously fidgeting as Paula looked up at the stairs and back to the mouth of the dead end, "E's prolly no' even u' there."

Paula's body twisted back almost unnaturally fast, her face contorted into a mask of anger. Teeth clamped shut; she hissed through them, "Shut the emfuck/em up. D'ya wanna lose yer fuckin' flat an' jewels, an' all the other shi' those stupid bastar's ge' for ya?"

"No," Rachel squeaked, stumbling back at the sheer force of Paula's snap, almost tripping over the railing as she tumbled back, barely catching herself.

Paula turned her head back to the outer street one last time before she decided that it was safe to go inside. Bending down to take off her shoes to make sure they made no noise on the metal stairs, she deftly hooked them on her right hand as she turned around to make sure that Rachel's shoes were soft-soled, relieved to see that they were.

In nine, tiptoe-steps, the tall, dark buttonwoman with the chirpy blonde was at the door and rapping at it with one hand, saying as loud as she could without attracting attention, "Russ, open up! We jus' go' back from the run up on Stoke-on-Trent, Rachel's here too. Russ?! Hurry up!"

But it wasn't working. Everything behind the door remained silent. Paula stepped back towards the rusty railing, sighing, before turning towards the stiff bimbo at her side, nervously chewing on her nails and ruining what must have been a damn expensive manicure. At once, her attention was redirected at the sound of a key jangling in the lock and the sound of an excited squeal coming from Rachel as it creaked back quickly and Russel's squat, imposing figure stood behind the doorway, a genuinely pleased grin displayed a row of pearly teeth and eyes looking ever amused, "How'd it go, Paula?"

Jerking to the side unusually quick for a man of his size, Paula seized a wide-eyed Rachel with a fire-nailed hand and sprinted inside, and Russel immediately went for the five locks. Gasping for breath, the little blonde whimpering at her side, Paula panted out, "Alrigh', Russ."

Russel turned around to lean against a strikingly bare column against a backdrop of dark wood, greys, and white. It was all minimalist, the rooms decorated in dusty, dry colors except for the electric pops of cerulean. Whoever had designed it had exquisite taste. Rachel stood in awe at the apartment before her face tightened childishly and she turned to Paula questioningly.

"Did ya straighten them out?" The chef asked casually.

Paula laughed through her gasps, just starting to get ahold of herself.

"Yeah, too damn easy, they just get greedy the dealers."

Russel shifted onto both of his feet, and headed into the open-floor kitchen, the smell of something roasting hanging deliciously in the air, lending a homey air to the purposefully barren apartment, "Either of ya want anythin'? And, Rachel, what the hell are you up here for?"

"P-Paula, uh, jus' wan'ed to bring me u'…" Rachel sputtered out, shaking, her face white as ever underneath her light makeup.

Russel frowned in concern, noticing how scared and pallid she looked, "You sure? The roast'll be done jus' now."

"I-I'm fine," Rachel said, a small smile turned up the corners of her mouth before she turned imploringly to the buttonwoman, "Paula?"

The taller woman rolled her eyes, turning to look at Russ through her shag of brown hair, blue eyes glinting icy behind it, "Say, is Muhdoc here-"

"RUSSEL, who the FUCK is i' now?"

The drummer smiled sardonically, "That answer your question? He's always 'round here lately."

"Is tha' Cracker?! Send her in, NOW."

Russel grumbled underneath his breath, looking up Paula's length to her rabbit-toothed baby face, "Go in then."

Paula cackled, "He's in his bedroom, right'?"

"Right," Russel turned away, heading for the fridge.

The buttonwoman cocked her head up the hall at Rachel, who quietly shuffled behind her down the corridor, stopping at the only door in it that was slightly ajar. Laying a splayed hand on it, Paula looked down at the blonde who was clearly holding her breath and praying for all it was worth. Steadying her face, knowing she'd get the reaction she wanted anyway, the buttonwoman gently pushed open the door.

Paula's heart seized up in delight at the anguished cry that escaped Rachel's lips, choked and sobbing already. At the same time, she could almost hear the hooker's heart drop into the balls of her feet as the scene behind the door revealed itself.

Lo and behold, there was 2D, just as expected, stark naked and beautiful, the ripples of muscle underneath the taut alabaster skin and his shock of electric blue hair nuzzling against the neck of the mastermind behind all of them: Murdoc Alphonse Niccals. Green-skinned, black-haired, equally naked and the most staggeringly sexy man you would ever see. He was Satanist, covered in tattoos with an eye that glimmered with Hellfire, _and_ a genius to put the frosting on the cake. A man that had known what to do, when to do it, and how to do it, and with all the right "connections". Stuart was on top of Murdoc, nuzzled into his neck, breathing in the king's scent of booze and musk. A cigarette was propped in between his long, white, delicate fingers. He looked happy, a lazy smile on his face. Oddly enough, Murdoc looked just as pleased with the kid clinging to him, staring up at the ceiling contentedly, both in the lush bubble of the afterglow of sex.

2D was the first to see them, his huge black eyes shifting onto them and his smile widened to show his tooth-gap,"Loo', Mudsy."

Murdoc looked down from the roof, shifting the cigarette to the corner of his mouth, "Paula, how'd it go?"

Paula laughed in a demented way that made 2D move closer to Murdoc and pushed Rachel anxiously into the room, uneasy even in her grief and through her tears, "Absolu'ly fine. Couldn' 'ave gone better."

2D shifted underneath the white sheets almost the same color as his skin, lazily opening his eyes to see the bimbo huddled up to herself and staring down at the clothes littering the floor, purple sleeves damp with snot. The blue-haired kid suddenly seized up with worry, and his brow furrowed as he asked, "Rachel, wha's wron'? Wha' is i'?"

Rachel looked up at him pathetically, embarrassed that he had noticed how upset she was and she began inching towards Paula as she spoke, "Nothin', nothin's wron'."

"Ya sure?" 2D sat up in bed anxiously, his sunny nature always getting the best of him.

"Yeah," The bimbo said almost inaudibly, shrinking back behind the buttonwoman and into the doorway. At the same time 2D fell back a bit.

Murdoc waved his cigarette around dismissively, completely unfazed by Paula's laughter, but the exchange between emhis/em fiancée igniting the burning jealousy inside of him, his mind working out any way to get between them, smiling when 2D sank back into bed next to him, "Paula, where the fuck is Hannibal?"

"I dunno. Haven' seen much of him this week 'cept for a' home. Why?" Paula said absently, eyeing a blue-striped tie on the floor in front of her feet, too smart to turn around to see if Rachel was still behind her.

"Tell 'im to come up here the nex' time ya see 'im. 'E ou' of work again?" Murdoc said, his arm snaking around 2D's waist, the bluenette dozing on his chest now, his eyes half-closed.

"Muhdoc, we both know he can't keep a job fer very lon'. Wha's it ya wan' 'im doin'?"

"Keepin' an eye on some thin's. Sen' me bruvver to see me," Murdoc chuckled a little, seeing the sleeping git on him, "Rachel's jus' left. Wha' the fuck's wron' with her anyway?"

"Nothin' important. Though' a customer too goo'-lookin', I guess," Paula smiled, turning on all her charm, but to no purpose. Her boss was too busy examining every single glimmering blue hair on the dullard's head, enthralled in the act.

Her face falling into contempt, Paula spun on her heel, a tiny bit angry her shoes were still on two of her fingers and she couldn't scuff that oak floor. It was true, the little blonde was gone and Russel stood there stunned. 


	2. A Friend in Need

"What the hell is she tryina' to pull?" Russel said incredulously, his body occupying a corner of the kitchen as he leaned back onto the granite countertop near the roast. It already had a large chunk missing, showing the pale pink inside.

Paula gently shut the door behind her and swayed into the open-floored kitchen casually, unfettered by Rachel's absence. Picking up a fork and knife from a crystal rack, she gingerly cut a piece of beef and placed it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully before she answered cheerfully, "No clue, Russ. Where'd ya suppose she wen'?"

"The way she was lookin', I can't even say, man. Not far, probably. But, seriously, Paula, what the hell's wrong with her anyway?" Russel asked concerned as he crossed his arms over his big belly.

Paula laughed, gently setting the silverware down, "She's jus' found ou' Muhdoc and Dent are shagging."

Russel snorted, "As if that wasn't common knowledge, the way they're always at it."

"Yeah, it wasn't common to her. She's in love with him, see?" Paula said nonchalantly, heading to the black-and-chrome refrigerator for something to wash the meat down.

The chef's milky eyes bulged out of his head, "What? She's in love with Murdoc?"

Paula looked over her shoulder clutching a pitcher of ice water, "What the hell, Russ? Everyone o' them pros'itutes has the good sense to know that fallin' in love with Muhdoc is fuckin' pointless. Even Rachel, no matter 'ow stupid she is. She's in love with 2D, an' could you hand me a glass?"

Russel reached up to one of the cupboards above his head and pulled out a white china mug, sliding it across the counter and into Paula's waiting hand, "Bullshit. There's no way."

Paula kicked the fridge closed with her foot, having poured herself a cup, taking a sip.

_Fuck, the mug smells li' fish_, she thought disdainfully, her nose wrinkling. Without mentioning it to Russel, she sat it down and turned to the chef, "Believe it. Been afta 'im ever since she laid eyes on 'im."

"Does the Boss know?" Russel asked.

"I'm sure he does, Russ, but I don't think anybody would go askin' 'im. 'E's not a fool."

"That's bullshit, man. He should at least say somethin' to her."

"Oh, fuck tha', Russel, why should 'e?" Paula laughed contemptuously, disguising her irritation behind cynicism. Damn, why couldn't Russel give her some grub and let her be on her way? She hated this. She had better things to do, better places to be, "He's got nothin' to be afraid of."

'Whatever, man. When you gon' get outta here, Paula?" Russel sighed.

"Now," Paula chirped, sashaying into the open hallway in front of the door, Russel blithely trailing her to see her out. She carefully undid the locks as silently as possible, rather annoyed by the 1990 Beretta concealed by her loose black blouse and coat. It was digging into her back, and if she didn't get out of there and back home soon enough, she swore to herself she would end up shooting anyone standing too close.

Russel piped up behind her, opening the door for her and clasping the handle tight, "Go say somethin' to her, Paula. Fix this shit now."

Paula smiled genuinely at the chef, "Russ, I planned on doing it in the first place. I wouldn't let her stay like this."

Russel grinned back, "Good. Now get outta here."

"Fine, fine," Paula said, stepping out onto the grate outside, and watching Russ lock up the house, that painful smile dropping off of her face. Her hands travelled up into her coat pockets in search of a pack of cigarettes, hot anger descending on her in a flush when she realized she'd forgotten them.

_Fuck all. The least I deserve aftah dealin' with these fuckin' idiots is a fag,_ she raged silently to herself, stepped lightly down the stairs. Her sharp breath made little clouds as she reached the bottom and turned the corner, feet suddenly heavy on the concrete, making her way through the bevy of people underneath the lamplight. _Pray Hannibal isn't home_; she slowly stopped being the acid-tongued buttonwoman for the most powerful drug empire in England, and became one of the crowd.

* * *

Paula Cracker was drinking again, and she wasn't even really sure why anymore. The alcohol did nothing to her, like a drug whose spell had worn off. The only difference was that unlike the junkies she saw leaching off of the small-time dealers protected by Murdoc, she wouldn't go to lengths for the high. There was no reason to. Paula was a woman who knew how to numb herself. Sometimes, Hannibal would look at her and wonder, even for a moment, if women like her really existed, if it was possible to be so truly removed from every other person. It was unnerving, to think what was lacking in Paula then his love for her clouded the lenses, and his thoughts troubled him no more.

But tonight, the buttonwoman had a plan sitting at the bar with her rum. Sighing, she tipped her head back and swallowed the remaining sweet, pungent liquid, and turned to one of the more familiar bartenders around there –they seemed to change every night- and called out, "Charlie, where's Rachel?!"

Without looking up from the tequila shot he slid to a pretty redhead in the center of a swarm of giggling girls, the simple, pleasant-looking server called back, "Down the back, thir' door on the right!"

"She with John?!"

"Yep!"

_Christ, _the gunwoman was irritated that night. She had already spent the night handling some toughs threatening the control of the Whitechapel District, forcing them into Essex. But the wanton glee was in her eyes as she scraped her stool back and sauntered off into the dark corridor towards the back of the bar, almost hidden. To the authorities, the rooms were passed off as being "cheap accommodation" for paying customers, and were simply always couples.

That and the walls just happened to be thicker than any of the others in the building. No one ever questioned it.

Paula clacked down the hall, the hoots of the mob still resounding while the air thickened with the smell of sex, musty and piercing, stopping in front of the third door out of a set of seven altogether. She grasped the gold handle and shook it, gritting her teeth when she found it locked.

Exhaling sharply, the gunwoman took a step back and lifted up her leg, aiming the heel of her shoe at the lock cylinder, kicking in, busting it, and leaving the door swinging open on its hinges, a confused angry shout coming from inside the dingy room, "Wha' the bloody fuck?!

Strutting in, Paula eyed the poor sod scrambling out of bed to get the clothes at her feet, Rachel lying down and looking absent from the scene, apparently not even noticing Paula's presence, "Ge' ou' already, ya stupid bastard."

The soft John looked up from around her feet murderously from beneath thick eyebrows, "I'm goin', bitch."

"Tsk tsk. I don' 'ave t' pay a whore to ge' shagged, now ge' the fuck away from me," Paula sneered back menacingly, still parading towards the ratty bed to sit down next to the calm, stony-faced bimbo.

"So, Rachel, where'd you run off too?" Paula asked carelessly, leaning back onto her hands and smiling smugly, glancing over at the John who was trying desperately to hop into his jeans.

"I dunno. I don' remember," Rachel said raggedly, her eyes bloodshot from crying, and a long scar on her arm bare from the days when she had had a pimp, before Paula took her to Murdoc. It had been six days since she'd been up the apartment, and no one had heard from her until the bartenders spotted her with a John on the third.

"I tol' ya he was sleepin' with Muhdoc, didn't I?"

"I KNOW 'E'S FUCKIN'MUHDOC, PAULA, WHA'S YER POINT?" Rachel's screamed at the buttonwoman, making the John squeal and work harder to get his t-shirt over his head, but Paula still had that smug smile pasted on her face.

"Take i' easy, Rach. I've go' a way to fix this," Paula said soothingly, pleased when she heard running shoes squeak against the floor and the door bang into its frame.

Rachel suddenly perked up in bed. Pulling the blanket over her chest, she sat up eagerly, a smile pulling up the corners of her mouth, "Really? How?"

Paula grinned slyly, "See, Stuart, right? He swings both ways. And I figure we can do something about Murdoc."

Rachel's brow furrowed in confusion, "Bu', Paula, I though' you an' Muhdoc was close?"

"We were, until he gave tha' little Japanese tart London to min'," Paula laughed humorlessly, "An' I'm no' gonna stand for i'. Jus' watch, luv. I'll take down ol' Boss Niccals, an' when Stuar' gets wind of it, 'e won't want 'im anymore."

Rachel hesitated, "Bu', isn' Muhdoc the reason why we all live so well?"

Paula looked shocked, her wine-colored mouth softly enunciating every word, "But, Rachel, 'e's go' your man, doesn' he? He has 'im every nigh', and where are you? Givin' away your hard-earned cash to 'im every week? So tha' he can live 'owever 'e wants? Ge' 2D to scream 'is name? Is tha' wha' you wan', Rachel? D'ya wan' 'im to win?"

Rachel took all of this in with childish trust, her eyes wide with awe and this revelation before her face fell, and her eyes went squint, "Yer righ'.

Paula chuckled, "Yes, I am, aren't I? An' as for the fuckin' tar', I'll handle 'er at the same time. She's nothin', an' I'll show tha' t' 'im. Fuckin' worthless at everythin', seventeen an' still a virgin. Miserable, I tell ya."

Rachel nodded sharply, "Yeah, yeah. I never liked 'er much meself anyways."

"Brainless. Stands around waitin' for a proper grown-up to step in an' do the job for her," Paula scoffed, getting up, "Ge' yer fuckin' clothes on an' go home. If the bastar' didn' pay ya, I'll make sure someone sen's ya the money, alrigh'?"

"Where are ya goin', Paula?"

"Away," came the lax reply, and with that, Paula was out the door, and into the mob, on the way to taking fate in her own hands.


End file.
